


And so live ever or else swoon to death

by Liaeling



Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:26:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3924535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liaeling/pseuds/Liaeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He was seduction, beauty, strength, stubbornness and, imminently, cruelty and hopelessness. Forever looking for submission to a hope he was reaching for in his eternal fall."</p>
            </blockquote>





	And so live ever or else swoon to death

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to sleep early tonight. Not happening. Blame my re-reading "Blood and Gold". 
> 
> Title shamelessly stolen from Keats' "Bright Star".

He trembled under me in the most delicious of involuntary spasms conceived in the animal world.

The heat emanating from every pore of his skin was intoxicating up to the point of driving me completely out of my mind. The sweet smell of his release combined with the salty smell of his sweat took unparalleled control of me, not unlike the distant memory that was suddenly kindled in me of male desire, of localized agony in the form of exquisite drive to do anything to reach a proximity to the target at hand.

His entire frame was heaving still, his rapid breath lost between the velvet on our bed, now slightly stained with what soon will become a memory of my claim over his – dare I say it, even if I knew it wasn’t true – virginity. He had come to me mangled and raped, yet in my mind he was nothing but a virgin tangled in the impossible prison of tortures not remembered, hands not really felt through his skin.

His body was untouched by the blemishes of time, his skin barely used to the stretch still happening to every muscle and tendon, bone and marrow. His body was of a softness compared only with the softness of young girls, he would outgrow it soon enough but for now he was nothing but the perfect sexless being. Lying as he was, face buried in the pillows, chest heaving against the velvet, I could easily forget he was closer to becoming a man than becoming a woman. He was seductive in his youth, easily confused with real cunning in the knowledge of the gift of beauty given to him.

Yet, he wasn’t innocent. He had proved thirsty in desire as well as in possession. His was a submissive mind, but not passionless. A hard and grim past made him stubbornly strong, unconsciously able to be submitted to any kind of change thrust upon him. I was sure, in my still clouded mind, that even if he were to fall down into the deepest recess of the Earth, he would still learn how to live, and _thrive_ in it.

Yet, his survival didn’t depend on things that my Westernized mind understood. His was a true survival, a true _adaptation_.

Yes, adaptation was the word I was looking for when I saw him walking among my mortal boys. Adaptation was the word he so easily put into action without consciously making a choice. His spirit was simple and yet so very strong in its amplitude of possibilities.

The possibility of a virgin, as I had once thought, was truly right before me. He was what Zenobia could not be in her rushed introduction to the Blood, forever dependent upon a guiding hand; nor was he close to what my beautiful Bianca could ever be in her experience of a mortal world far beyond her virgin dreams.

He was seduction, beauty, strength, stubbornness and, imminently, cruelty and hopelessness. Forever looking for submission to a hope he was reaching for in his eternal fall.

His breath had begun to normalize and the sweet spasms of his body were now reduced to visible goosebumps along his naked spine. I was lying next to him, looking him up and down as I weighed his character and my easy domination of it. He hadn’t caught my eye since the fatal, completely mortal moment of his release. He hid his face, in shame or hidden pleasure I couldn’t know, for I had vowed not to read his mind if I could read his body. The sudden need to see his brown eyes tormented me like the eternally rising need for his blood. His blood in my mouth, through my teeth, down my throat and reaching to every last corner of my being. The _need_ of him through the need of his blood was overpowering.

I was about to pound on him like the wild animal I could become when thirsty, when suddenly he raised his head and looked at me.

His eyes told the tale of yielding, of something akin to the animal who sees itself cornered by a predator and knowing full well that if it doesn’t fled, the pain would be less when at last the beast attacks. His eyes were still clouded with the pleasure easily given to him and easily taken, too. There were so many conflicting emotions behind those deep, round eyes that for I moment I was stunned at the mere simplicity of my love for him.

I loved him in his total obedience in matters he couldn’t understand and I loved him in his reckless rebellious outbursts about things he could so easily change. I loved him in his tormented tears of melancholy devotion as well as I loved him in his cruel laughs at what he called delusions of innocence in my actions.

I loved him as he was, bruised and struggling to forget about the bruises only to realize that nothing could truly erase the open scars.

He was my child, my love, my chosen one. My future companion, my sun in the darkness, my gloom in the luminescence of my rational misbeliefs of redemption through rescue of the so-called innocent.

He lay there staring at me, drawing from me the deepest devotion I had known in my long life. His silence spoke to my very soul like a bird may speak to a trapped child. He was the child and yet he made me feel like one. Oh, the sweet irony of my possession, of my complete claim over him could almost make me weep.

And then, without changing a single thing in posture or intention, he slowly took his lower lip between his teeth and bit down hard on it, his eyes never leaving mine.

Blood.

It truly was an overflowing of the senses. His body by candlelight, the feel of his weight next to me in our bed, the sweet shining eyes upon me, the smell of him, the heat of him, the irresistible presence of him.

I must have truly pounced upon him for my next conscious movement was sucking down hard on his lip, but I was already on top of him, having turned him around and so much as mounted him without shame.

The little fallen angel was smiling behind my feverish kiss. I opened my already dazed eyes to see his eyebrows shot up in his face as he looked at me, a true look of triumph carved in his very expression. His hands were in my hair, his legs around my waist. He was hard against me. He was panting under me again between every hard kiss I gave him.

He quivered like a leaf in the wind and still he never blinked as we looked at each other in our kiss. I drew away an instant from his mouth and he followed my lips like a starved beast might do. He let his head fall back on the bed as he realized I had only broken our intimacy so I could bit down hard on my tongue to conjure his poison and his elixir.

As I bit down inside my mouth, he took his own lip between his teeth again, drawing some more blood from the open wound and sending me a truly obscene look in the process.

I knew in that moment that one day he would be the end of me. The end of Marius the wanderer, Marius the one that runs from those he loves out of duty. Duty could take me away from him for days, maybe weeks, but duty would not take me away forever. He would be mine as he was mine now. Mine forever.

I slowly lowered my head towards him and he met me desperately in the middle. His kiss was feverish, hungry and impossibly passionate. As an immortal, I felt its heat more pronouncedly against the stark coldness of my being.

He could undo me with one kiss. I was doomed.

The moment I closed my eyes before he did, I knew the world would never be the same to me. He was mine and I was his, but he had all the power over me that I had always feared to relinquish to any other being.

In his blood I found sustenance, warmth and painful devotion, and he found in mine the most incredible pleasure in a union of minds so close to death and still too close to life.

He trembled under me in the most delicious of involuntary spasms conceived in the animal world.

And above him, I trembled too. But mine was not an involuntary spasm, mine was the sweetest voluntary surrender.

A surrender to our love, now and for all Eternity.


End file.
